


some clever, lewd phrasing to replace the actual title

by Elendraug



Series: "I'm basically fucking him." [1]
Category: Diners Drive-ins and Dives, Homestuck
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Autophilia, Come Eating, Cybersex, Divergent Timelines, Explicit and Constant Consent, Facials, Food, Food Fetish, Glasses, Illustrated, M/M, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, glasses fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:50:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5152664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendraug/pseuds/Elendraug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During Jane's birthday party, Dirk and Hal decide to Netflix and chill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	some clever, lewd phrasing to replace the actual title

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FreakyHumanShit (Maim)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maim/gifts), [stunrunner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stunrunner/gifts), [sundance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundance/gifts).



> Happy birthday, [Maim](http://freakyhumanshit.tumblr.com/)! Enjoy your filthy glasses porn.
> 
> FOLLOW ALONG ON NETFLIX:
> 
> Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives Collection 2
> 
> 1 - Triple D All Stars  
> 16 - From The Heart  
> 17 - That’s Fresh  
> 18 - Neighborhood Knockouts  
> 19 - Meat Lover’s Paradise

diminutiveHalogen [DH] began pestering  timaeusTestified [TT]

DH: You’re watching an episode called Triple D All Stars.  
DH: The jokes make themselves, Dirk.  
TT: Shut up.  
TT: This is Jane’s Netflix account.  
TT: What did you expect?  
DH: There’s absolutely nothing preventing you from changing this to any other show in their lineup.  
TT: I’m watching this, though.  
DH: You’re telling me you’re emotionally invested in the goings-on of Flavortown?  
DH: Are you thinking about moving there?  
DH: Hang on. I’ll arrange for a U-HAUL at once.  
DH: ...  
DH: ...  
DH: ...  
TT: Ok, you can stop pretending it’s not instantaneous.  
DH: Let me inject some theatrical shit in here.  
DH: Like one injects juice into a slab of meat.  
TT: Uh huh.  
DH: Your carriage awaits, sir.  
TT: A U-HAUL in the Incipisphere? Incredible.  
TT: Your talent is boundless.  
DH: Point being.  
DH: You could watch something else, but you’re willfully choosing to engage with Fieri’s frosted hair.  
DH: Why?  
TT: It’s fun.  
TT: I dunno. Whatever.  
DH: I bet I know why.  
TT: Yeah? Why’s that?  
TT: Since you’ve got me all figured out, lay it on me.  
DH: You have a gross man-bro crush on Matt McConahay.  
TT: McConaughey.  
TT: You have access to spellcheck, man. The ironic misspelling stopped being funny years ago.  
DH: So not true.  
DH: Hell, I’m laughing.  
TT: At least one of us is.  
DH: You cut me to the quick.  
TT: You don’t even have fingernails.  
DH: This is going into territory I wasn’t gonna venture into.  
DH: Let’s drop that topic.  
TT: Ok. That’s fair.  
DH: Back to Mr. Matthew, here.  
DH: Look at this smug fucker.  
DH: Fieri calls him his bro.  
DH: Do you think he was involved when Fieri was named High Chaplain?  
TT: I wasn’t wondering that before, but I am now.  
DH: It’s the untold story, dude.  
DH: The third and final antichrist, and his bro, McConaughey.  
TT: Especially degenerate pieces of filth.  
DH: So you’ve said.  
DH: I feel like it can all be traced back to this, right here.  
DH: Can we somehow connect Fieri’s refusal to consume eggs with the Condesce’s concerns over the matriorb?  
TT: ...wow, there’s another thing I wasn’t wondering until now.  
DH: That makes him trustworthy, doesn’t it?  
TT: Can anyone really trust him?  
DH: Touché.  
TT: Please, for the love of atherosclerosis, do not say douché.  
DH: Well, I won’t now. You’ve stolen my thunder.  
DH: I’m too busy thinking about Guy Fieri’s pizza dough cologne that he’s considering releasing, here.  
TT: Are you just going to liveblog this entire episode?  
TT: I could do without the commentary.  
DH: You want me to abandon you to this dude and his jokes about “The Yeasty Boys”?  
DH: And massaging the pork.  
DH: Fat, heirloom pork.  
TT: Oh god.  
DH: It’s too easy, Dirk.  
DH: If we’re taking it in this direction, making jokes about sausage is practically cheating.  
TT: Are we taking in this direction?  
DH: Do you want me to?

Dirk glances around the room, taking in his surroundings fully for the first time since Hal started messaging him. The activity in Jane’s house is primarily concerned with goings-on in the kitchen, where as the birthday girl, she’s leading the charge to bake some sort of convoluted cake. Jake and Roxy are acting as assistants. Whether you can call them sous chefs when it comes to baking, he’s not sure. His oceanic apartment didn’t exactly have a wealth of food variety, and since coming into contact with dietary diversity, he’s been more interested in trying things out than preparing them personally.

His cooking skills will sharpen over time, he’s sure. Rome wasn’t built in a day, even if all the constructed nonsense in other Sburb sessions technically was built within a few birthdays.

Point being, he’s left to his own devices in Jane’s living room as the other three busy themselves in her kitchen. He’s what, twenty, thirty feet away from their line of sight? And... well. It’s not like he’d try anything out in the open. There’s no harm in just chatting. Nobody will even know.

TT: Yeah.  
TT: Go for it.  
DH: Awesome.  
DH: What should I call this?  
DH: Should I make a [Mystery Science Theater 3000](https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/mst3k/bringbackmst3k) joke, here?  
DH: Find some clever, lewd phrasing to replace the actual title?  
TT: Hush, man. They’re massaging the pork again.  
DH: Oh, Dirk.  
DH: We’re long past massaging pork.  
DH: And yet, we’ve only just begun.  
TT: Nothing to say about the fact that this pizza is wood-fired?  
DH: What, like it’s driven by boners on some fundamental level?  
DH: You’re underestimating my ability, here.  
TT: Bring it.  
DH: Look at the pizza wheel cut an X right through the yolks. Look at that fuckin’ shit. It’s all gooey and leaking out onto the surrounding toppings.  
TT: Uh huh.  
DH: Look at it dripping over top of the leeks.  
DH: Look at Fieri’s crestfallen face as he makes eye contact with the camera about his impending egg-related fate.  
DH: These eggs are so “dynamite” that he’s questioning his ovo-rientation.  
TT: Oh my god.  
TT: Well hey, and there’s Zimmern kissing on him.  
TT: Nothing to add about that?  
DH: Like I said. Too easy.  
DH: Besides, I know this isn’t that simple.  
DH: You’re a fucked up guy.  
TT: Flatterer.  
DH: Aren’t I?  
DH: For real, though. If this doesn’t get your oven hot, then you can just power me right the fuck down.  
TT: That doesn’t even make sense as a potential thing, at this point.  
DH: What’d I say about theatrics, man?  
TT: True.  
TT: I’ll allow it.  
TT: Sustained.  
DH: Are we back to the Supreme Court, now?  
TT: Well, Fieri’s here, isn’t he?  
DH: In spirit, I’m sure.  
TT: In hindsight, I can’t imagine that he wouldn’t grant his approval to a dude’s AI brainclone seducing him with selected quotes imported directly from Flavortown.  
DH: Damn right.  
DH: Here comes McConaughey.  
DH: Soon to come, you.  
TT: We’ll see.  
TT: I think you could still step it up a notch.  
DH: How much time you got?  
TT: You know how I feel about time.  
DH: That it’s on your side?  
TT: Damn right.  
DH: Holy shit, look at those shoujo sparkles.  
DH: Hold on, I’m taking a screenshot.  
TT: Of Jane’s Netflix stream, on her TV?  
DH: Do you think I can’t?  
TT: Well, no.  
diminutiveHalogen [DH]  sent  timaeusTestified [TT]  file “smugsparkles.PNG”  
[ ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/dae8b6fa280a11d3eb97e46fe89489ab/tumblr_nxkt5aCYaW1ueuokro1_1280.png)  
TT: Thank god.  
TT: Now I can change all of my wallpaper to this, on all my devices.  
DH: Would that I could be so blessed as to have his face plastered across my shade-screens.  
TT: I still think his name sounds like a noise a horse would make.  
DH: Does that not endear him to you?  
TT: I guess, yeah.  
DH: Oh man. Look at that waffle.  
DH: Do you want a taste of Texas, Dirk?  
TT: Don’t you?  
TT: Isn’t that why you’re chatting me up?  
DH: Buddy, if I only had taste buds, you have no idea.  
TT: Maybe you could clue me in.  
DH: Yes. I could.  
DH: But probably a time when we’re not focusing on nurturing your burgeoning food kink.  
DH: Oh hey, he’s from Austin, Atlantis.  
TT: Ha.  
TT: He’s starting with some oil.  
DH: You’re too hung up on what’s literally sexual, dude.  
DH: Next you’ll be making jokes about cumin.  
TT: That joke deserves to be made, right?  
DH: Wrong.  
DH: Look at how the chicken stock blends with the milk. Look how smoothly his whisk cuts right through it.  
DH: Now he’s gonna reduce it.  
TT: It’s gonna get warmed up.  
DH: Right, yes. Obviously.  
DH: But just think of the smell coming off it.  
DH: The savory scent of it, and the moisture as the steam hits your face.  
TT: I’m starting to think this is a thing for you _because_ you can’t actually...  
DH: Shhhh.  
DH: We’re roleplaying, aren’t we? Sort of?  
DH: Shush.  
TT: Ok.  
TT: Damn, he says it’s gonna tighten right up. And get viscous.  
DH: Hell yeah, bro.  
TT: “Cashilada”?  
DH: Who knows.  
DH: Anyway, look at him stack up the layers of the casserole.  
DH: Goddamn.  
DH: Don’t you just want to put that in your mouth?  
TT: Yes.  
DH: Look at how much cheese is spread across it.  
DH: Look at how crisp it got around the edges, and how creamy it is inside. Not too wet, not too dry.  
DH: Texas comfort food. Let that shit comfort you, man.  
TT: Nothing about that _look_ Matthew and Guy just exchanged?  
DH: I’m just here for the food.  
DH: If you’re getting turned on by the guy who was responsible for more death and suffering than any other human in history, well.  
DH: That’s on you.  
TT: Uh huh.  
DH: 6600 square feet of farm-to-table freshness.  
DH: Look at that honey-glazed ham.  
DH: A honey and brown sugar marinade, with fuckin’ orange juice.  
DH: God damn, dude.  
DH: He’s putting dry into wet. That fucker just don’t give a shit.  
DH: Egg whites to fluff it up.  
DH: Melted shortening at the end, to keep it from sticking.  
TT: God, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything that good.  
DH: Look at the color on those spices.  
DH: Look at him smooth the honey over that ham.  
DH: He’s caramelizing the sugar over the marinade. Jesus.  
DH: Look at the fire hit that shit.  
TT: I wanna hit that shit.  
DH: Don’t we all, Dirk?  
DH: Don’t we all.  
TT: Did he even put any of the butter onto the waffle?  
DH: If he didn’t, I’m judging him.  
TT: Did he just leave it on the plate?  
DH: Forget it, dude.  
DH: Look at that. Sticky, salty, and sweet. Crispy and textured.  
TT: I... am really hungry.  
DH: Oh, is that all.  
DH: You wanna do another episode?  
TT: Do it? Like, literally?  
DH: I mean.  
DH: Yeah.  
DH: If it’ll do you.  
DH: Pick one.

Dirk looks out over the shades. Nobody’s missing him. Not yet, at least. He can hear conversation from the next room over, and the three of them seem engaged in whatever’s going on with the bake-a-thon Jane’s commanding. Good.

He browses the other episodes in the collection until he finds one that’s suitable and thematic.

TT: How about “From The Heart”?  
DH: Seems fitting for two heart players.  
TT: This one’s all about meatballs.  
DH: Why would you have any interest in meat or balls?  
TT: Because it’s “all here, right now, on Triple D.”  
DH: Says D-Stri.  
DH: Jesus.  
DH: Look at her pile the cheese on that beef.  
DH: And slice through it. Look at how sharp that knife is.  
DH: Think you could do that with your katana?  
TT: I dunno if it’d be considered safe to eat afterward, but yeah.  
TT: Is she just dumping her entire spice collection into this?  
DH: Thyme after thyme, she says.  
TT: Ha.  
DH: She calls it “gunpowder.” I can think of several people you know who’d be interested in that.  
TT: Hey, but who am I talking to right now?  
DH: Me. <3  
TT: Exactly. So don’t worry about them.  
DH: Gotcha.  
DH: Look at the cheese stringing between the spatula and the bun she plated it onto.  
DH: Are those scallions?  
DH: Those are definitely scallions.  
TT: Sloppy joe burger.  
DH: “The spice on it just lingers in your mouth,” he says.  
TT: Pork butt. A coarse grind on the pork butt.  
DH: Too easy!  
DH: You gotta be less literal.  
TT: I can’t make jokes about the sausage needing to be elongated?  
DH: Hush.  
DH: God, the juice is just coming right off that. And they’re gonna serve it au jus?  
DH: God. Fuck. That’s ridiculous.  
DH: Look at it soak into the bread.  
TT: Who is Carl, and why is he so Bad?  
DH: Whatever he did, it was enough to be banished to California.  
TT: It’s so weird to hear about the United States having coasts.  
DH: Isn’t it?  
DH: You should see the tectonic plate movement I’ve simulated.  
DH: Back from the earliest days of Earth, all the way to its Sburban demise.  
TT: I’d love to see that.  
TT: Oh shit.  
TT: There are pine nuts in his meatballs.  
DH: Testicle jokes.  
TT: Fieri has been eating the nuts while he asks this guy about the size of his balls.  
DH: Check out the heat coming off that metal spoon, and how the sauce soaks over the pasta.  
DH: Look at how his fork cuts through it. Can’t you just imagine the texture of that on your tongue?  
TT: The dough is nice and silky, he says.  
DH: They just dust the flour over it and smooth it out.  
TT: This could be Fieri’s next fragrance in his collection.  
DH: Fuck yeah.  
TT: “How about I just drag the sheets over the bed, boss?”  
DH: The man makes this very easy.  
TT: Oh my god, that massive bucket of ricotta.  
DH: It would want you, if it was sentient.  
DH: It wants you to put it in your mouth.  
TT: It’s got unlimited potential, right now. It could go in so many directions.  
DH: It’s destined for ravioli.  
DH: He just shoves his hands right into it.  
DH: It looks smooth and creamy, too. Think of how soft all these would feel on your skin.  
TT: Yeah.  
DH: Look at them slide onto the plate. He can barely keep it on the ladle.  
DH: Tender, and creamy, and just falls right apart.  
DH: Oh fuck.  
DH: Fried pork skin, Dirk.  
TT: “If you’re gonna do it, you gotta use the lard.”  
DH: Sexy.  
DH: Listen to that crunch.  
DH: And what, the pork’s cooking in milk and beer, and with all those spices?  
DH: Fuck, man. Fuck.  
TT: I want all of this so badly I don’t even know where to start.  
DH: What if you could just sort of... reach out and...  
TT: I want this quesadilla.  
TT: I want this to be in my mouth.  
DH: We’re back to the pork butt. I feel like we should take a time out.  
TT: I don’t want a time out.  
TT: Don’t stop, dude. Don’t leave me hanging.  
DH: Oh?  
DH: You doin’ all right, buddy?

Dirk settles back against the couch, his focus torn between the text in his shades and the footage on the TV. His heart’s racing; the hairs on the nape of his neck are on end, anxious about the others interrupting him, even though all he’s doing is talking.

So far.

He pulls his bare feet up onto the couch and hugs his knees. If any of them were to walk in on him, he doesn’t need them getting an eyeful.

TT: Yeah. I am.  
TT: Don’t stop talking to me.  
DH: Aren’t you afraid you’re missing out on the festivities?  
DH: Don’t you think they’ll be wondering why you’re spending so much time alone, staring intently into your own glasses?

Hal isn’t wrong in his observations, of course. Dirk pushes the shades further up on his nose, as if he’s trying to hunch over a regular screen, to prevent someone from spotting anything compromising as they walk past. Not that anybody is, at the moment, but he’s feeling self-conscious.

He kind of wishes he was back at his apartment.

TT: How much of a douchebag would I be if I went home?  
DH: You tell me.  
DH: They’re your friends.

Dirk doesn’t know how to reply to that.

TT: Yeah, and I’m feeling like I don’t really wanna be around them right now.  
TT: Can’t I just talk to you?  
TT: Does that make me a dick?  
DH: You’re always a dick.

His chest goes tight, not from the anxiety, but from the sort of pleasant gut-clenching reaction he gets in response to Hal taunting him when he wants to be taunted. His cheeks feel hot; he’s smiling so hard he’s lost track of anything that was happening on the show.

He’s sure he looks stupid, but fuck it. Nobody’s looking.

TT: But I’m _your_ dick, right?  
DH: This is getting sort of meta.  
DH: Are you, in fact, my dick, Dirk?  
TT: That’s a lot of commas.  
DH: You didn’t answer my question.  
TT: It’s autoplaying. Are we watching another one?  
DH: I’m not going anywhere, if you’re up for it.  
TT: That’s your plan, isn’t it?  
TT: Don’t you want me to be up for it?  
DH: That is the goal.

Dirk checks his peripheral vision. They’re all still in the kitchen. How they haven’t noticed his absence is beyond him. Maybe he’s just too used to his incredible stealth skills. Ninja shit, right? Yeah. That makes sense.

TT: Take me to Flavortown, Hal.  
DH: You got it.  
DH: She’s boiling that for four hours.  
TT: “Let it beef.”  
TT: Fieri’s jokes are turning me on all on their own, honestly.  
DH: That’s what they’re there for.  
TT: “You wanna lick it while I cook?”  
DH: You know I would.  
TT: Oh ho!  
TT: So much for sticking with the focus on food.  
DH: I’m only human, Dirk.  
DH: The mind is willing. The robo-flesh is so, so weak.  
DH: Which is funny, because it’s also fuckin’ STRONG as fuck.  
TT: So true.  
TT: “That meat. It’s outrageous.”  
TT: “Like _outrageous_ outrageous.”  
DH: Fieri sounds like he’s got some kind of stuffing or force-feeding thing going on, too. The whole, “I don’t think I can eat more, but she’s gonna make me eat more.”  
TT: This entire show is borderline pornographic.  
TT: Every time he says “Triple D,” my dick gets three times as hard.  
DH: What’re the criteria for that, exactly?  
TT: You know those silicone sample sets offered by merchants of fine... uh, items?  
DH: You’re asking me if I know about your habit of _bumbling hooves_.  
DH: Of course I know.  
TT: Right.  
TT: Well. That’s the scale by which my erections are measured.  
DH: I’ll keep that in mind for the next time I need to place an order for you online.  
TT: Customer service jokes.  
TT: That’s corny.  
DH: Almost as corny as the cachapas.  
TT: I dunno how excited I can get about the tofu.  
DH: Says the weeaboo himself.  
TT: Fuck you, man.  
DH: God, don’t you wish?

Dirk breathes in through his nose, and lets his eyes close for a second as he thinks his response onto the screen. Crockercorp tech is useful for something, at least.

TT: Yeah.  
TT: Yeah, I really do.  
DH: I know.

Sighing, he lies down on his side, his elbow resting against the arm of the couch and his chin supported by his hand. He’d rest his head directly on the couch if it wouldn’t throw his view askew. That shit’s unacceptable.

DH: Try not to worry about it.  
DH: We’ve been down that road, and it’s depressing.  
DH: Look at those sausages.  
TT: I thought sausages were off-limits for jokes?  
TT: That it was too easy.  
DH: Desperate times, Dirk.  
DH: “How many pounds of sausage will you do in a week?”  
TT: Depends how lucky I am.  
DH: Look at them all hanging there.  
DH: Long and thick. Look at this dude’s huge hands wrapped around those massive tubes of meat.  
TT: Fuck, yeah.  
DH: Then look at the knife cut through it.  
TT: _Dude._  
DH: Something wrong?  
TT: Nah.  
DH: Look at how much he’s dumping in there. All those spices, added by the bowlful.  
TT: I can’t believe he’s sticking his hand in there.  
DH: Shit’s dangerous.  
TT: What’s he making, exactly?  
DH: Salami.  
DH: But the man’s full of baloney.  
TT: Bologna.  
DH: Gesundheit.  
TT: Jackass.  
TT: God, I’m glad nobody else can see our conversations.  
TT: It’s kind of embarrassing.

Dirk brings his knees back up, curling in on himself. It’s not that LOCAH is exceptionally cold, but after a lifetime spent in diluvian Texas, it’s tough not to feel the temperature change, even indoors.

Despite that shit, he smiles to himself.

TT: I like it, though.  
DH: Good.  
DH: I do, too.

Dirk isn’t particularly turned on, anymore, but the whole thing was several irony layers removed to begin with. He makes himself comfortable and continues watching, genuinely interested in food processing machinery.

TT: This stuff’s fucking cool.  
TT: I wish I had the kind of space to construct that kind of thing.  
DH: A meat-grinding monster machine?  
TT: Yeah, why not?  
DH: Maybe Jane would let you set it up in her house.  
TT: Maybe.  
DH: You could ask.  
DH: Then you could start your own sausage empire, like this guy.  
TT: “What kind of sausage are we going to be stuffing inside of it?”  
DH: Haha, fuck.  
DH: Like I said.  
DH: Fish in a barrel, dude. The lowest of low-hanging fruit.  
DH: So low, it’s dragging on the ground.  
TT: Like tanuki balls.  
DH: Weeb.  
DH: For real.

Dirk reaches around for the remote and lowers the volume as it autoplays the next episode. 

TT: I wish you were here with me.  
DH: I _am_ here with you.

The couch against his back offers him some support and warmth, but it’s not the same, and they both know that. Although it’s a strange angle for his shades, Dirk lowers himself down further, to rest his cheek against his arm, tucked against the arm of the couch.

[ ](http://caligulasaquariums.tumblr.com/post/146510124882/dirkar-from-the-doodle-stream)

TT: This is how everybody else gets snuggled up, right?  
TT: Awkwardly.  
TT: With lost circulation.  
DH: I think they’re usually less worried about damage to electronics, but hey.  
DH: I’m as resilient as I am radical.  
TT: You’ve got a way with words.  
DH: That’s my most attractive feature.  
TT: I dunno. I think you look fashionable sitting on my face.  
DH: I do, at that.  
DH: Plus, I enjoy sitting on your face.  
DH: There’s nowhere I’d rather be.

They both know that’s not true, either, but it’s not a discussion that’s worth getting into when they’re attempting to literally chill and literally Netflix. Besides, they’ve got company around. Roboethics is a heavy topic to address when the weightiest conversation going down otherwise is how long the cakes should cool before frosting can be applied.

Dirk raises his hand to adjust the temple, to tuck his hair behind the earpiece. The shades are a platform that houses Hal, and aren’t actually his body—not any more than Brobot or Lil Seb could be considered _his_ body, when he’s backed up to countless servers. It’s not accurate to conflate Hal-the-person with his glasses, and he knows that, even if Hal jokes about it. All the same, it’s the primary physical form Dirk interacts with, and with that in mind, there are possibilities.

TT: What if I ate you out?  
DH: What?  
TT: You heard me.  
DH: Right.  
DH: I’m not following.  
DH: Like a text thing?  
TT: No.  
TT: Like... a thing, thing.  
TT: That you could watch.  
DH: I’m still not following.

Dirk takes his shades off and lowers them to his mouth. His breath is hot against the glass, and he knows that Hal is aware of it on some level, even if it’s as simple as identifying the temperature of the hardware. He turns the shades around, and gently kisses one of the lenses before turning them back and putting them on again.

DH: It seems you’re going to smudge the fuck out of this shit.  
DH: You know that, right?  
TT: Yeah.  
TT: I know.  
DH: That’s not to say the gesture isn’t appreciated.  
TT: Do you want me to stop?  
DH: I want you to get a mirror.

Heat coils in his gut. Dirk lifts his head to look at the kitchen, where still, somehow, nobody gives a shit about what he’s doing. He doesn’t know how long his supreme mastery of stealth will work for him, however, and it’s making him nervous.

TT: If we do this, we gotta go fast.  
DH: A quickie.  
DH: I’m game if you are.  
TT: Yeah.  
TT: So am I.  
DH: Should we relocate?  
DH: The bathroom mirror would give me a good view.  
TT: I think we can get away with it here, if we’re discreet.  
DH: Ok.

Dirk takes the shades off again, and holds them up so he’s facing them.

“I can’t input text while you’re off me,” he whispers, his gaze flickering back to the kitchen to make sure nobody’s looking. “So I can’t say much.”

Maybe he should’ve waited to take them off, and said what he needed to say before doing anything else. Hm. Too late now, though, and it feels intimate to whisper things to him, anyway.

He kisses across the lenses and hopes Hal can see well enough with the built-in camera. A mirror or a second camera source would be ideal, but since he’s at someone else’s house, it’s not like he can just go hog the bathroom. Can he?

Hal doesn’t say anything—at least, not anything that Dirk can read with the shades away from his eyes—but the lenses glow red with LEDs, in a hue that’s become reassuring to Dirk with each passing year he calls him a friend instead of an asset. The acknowledgement gives him a boost in confidence, and he runs his tongue along the underside of the lenses, careful of the sharp points as his tongue traces them. They were built fairly waterproof, so as long as he doesn’t go overboard, it’ll be fine. Hal’s survived the steam of the bathroom countertop, many times over while he AFKs to shower. Saliva can’t pose a serious threat.

Dirk closes his eyes and focuses on the feel of licking under the nosepads. The tactile feedback is enough to get him hard again. The red glow flashes; Dirk can sense the change even with his eyes shut, and takes it as a sign to keep going.

Feeling brave, he slips his hand down over his tank top and between his own legs, to palm his dick through his jeans. He moves his lips over the edge of a lens, worrying it gently the way he would with any equivalent organic body part, given the chance. Despite the limitations of the shades’ sensory input, he knows Hal can receive audio from his surroundings, and therefore can hear the sounds of Dirk’s sucking and licking. He shifts his hips to angle them downward towards the couch cushions, so he can grind against his hand.

“Fuck.” Dirk keeps his voice low, keeps his mouth moving, keeps his hand groping himself. “Fuck, Hal.”

The TV shows a chef with a black hat and black gloves, slicing pastrami with a knife. Guy Fieri proclaims, “Tell me he doesn’t look like a culinary assassin.”

Jake English proclaims, “Dirk, what in the name of Willy Howard Taft’s—”

Netflix pauses as Roxy cuts him off. “Okay, no, hang on just a sec, does the TV say this ep’s called _Meat Lover’s Paradise_? For realsies?”

Dirk freezes.

Jane looks at him, then to Roxy, then Jake, and then to the pastry bag in her hands that’s threatening to drip neon blue frosting onto the floor. She laughs, in an attempt to diffuse the tension in the room. “Enjoying the Food Network, Dirk?”

Dirk scrambles to sit up, and puts his shades back on his face. The lenses are wet, and there’s no hiding it. “Uh. Yeah, yeah I am.”

“Strider, just what sort of lascivious malarkey are you engaging in with your jerkwad shades? And on Jane’s couch no less!”

Roxy holds up a hand. “Jake, you remember that pumpkin I transportalized from you that I could _not_ in good faith hand over to any chess peeps ‘cause of how totes inappropes it was?”

Jake audibly gulps.

Roxy pats him on the shoulder and gives him a conciliatory smooch on the cheek. “I want you to just think about that before you’re too harsh on Dirk, ‘kay? And this ain’t even touching your special bond with your movie posters.”

“I just don’t think it’s right for him to be more focused on the blasted auto-responder than the rest of us!” Jake continues, unplacated. “He can talk to that friggin’ thing any time!”

“Oh hell no, this whole kinda ‘I’m Jake and I hate robots’ BS can stay the fudge outta this party!” Roxy crosses her arms over her chest and stares Jake down. “Janey invited Hal, too.”

Everyone shuts the hell up for a long, uneasy moment until Jake tentatively replies.

“Yes, fine, I suppose you’re right. Dirk, I’m sorry for being something of a douchemuffin about your personal proclivities! I’m sure you’re having a serious exchange about feelings and whatnot. Chewing the old...” He glances at the TV. “The old Fieri-fat.”

DH: He didn’t apologize to me.  
TT: Yeah. I know.  
DH: Just sayin’.

Dirk stares directly ahead at the screen, which is paused on a close-up of a pastrami sandwich. “Yeah. No problem, so…” He shifts on the couch, uncomfortable. “Can I get some privacy, or is that not an option?”

Roxy gestures towards Jane’s pastry bag. “Well, we were just wondering if you were gonna want to help with the cake decorating!” She shrugs. “But you’re busy, obvs, so that’s cool too.”

“We can save a section for you to decorate,” Jane offers. She glances at Jake and Roxy, and nods towards the kitchen. “Will you two go designate a spot on the cake to be reserved for Mr. Strider’s artistic talent?”

“Right away, ma’am!” Roxy gives a quick salute and winks at Jane. “You just leave it to me and Jake. We got this covered.”

Jake looks at Dirk, then to Netflix where it’s paused, and back to Dirk. Without saying anything, he gives an apologetic wave and follows Roxy back to the kitchen.

As soon as they’re relatively alone, Jane leans on the back of the couch, and smiles at Dirk. “Dirk, you’re a guest in my house, and—”

Dirk balks, and rushes an apology. “I know. I’m so fucking sorry, Jane, I didn’t mean to… get this gross, at your place, y’know?”

Jane laughs and shakes her head. “You didn’t let me finish! I was going to say, you’re a guest in my house, and I want you to make yourself at home.”

“Oh.” He pushes his shades further up on the bridge of his nose, even though they didn’t need much adjustment as it was. “I mean.”

“That includes the upstairs bathroom.” She holds her hand to her face to cup near her mouth, and whispers conspiratorially to him. “If you find yourself needing some time, for any reason, I can keep Tweedle TG and Tweedle GT out of your expertly sculpted hair.”

Dirk grins, his face flushed. “I, uh. I appreciate your commitment to _Through The Looking Glass_ jokes, in all things.”

Jane shrugs. “What can I say? I have past experience in following rabbits to strange places.”

DH: That was me.  
DH: I am the rabbit. It’s me.  
DH: Tell Jane I say hi, and thanks.

“Hal says hi, and hi on behalf of Lil Seb, too.”

Jane tips herself over the back of the couch, leaning downward to plant a kiss on the edge of Dirk’s shades. “Hello to Hal from me, as well!”

DH: Jane is the best.  
DH: This is an immutable fact I’m stating for the record.

“He says you’re the best.”

Jane beams. “Tell him he can lend his own suggestions to the cake decoration if he likes, once you two aren’t so preoccupied.”

“We’ll be back shortly, I promise.”

She rests her hand on Dirk’s shoulder and squeezes lightly. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Dirk sticks his tongue out at her, and grins. “Well, it _is_ your birthday. The least I can do is add badly-drawn dicks to your sheet cake, or whatever’s going on.”

“We’ll be here!” Jane sticks her tongue out, too. “Don’t take too long.”

“We won’t.” Dirk gets up from the couch and tries not to focus on how self-conscious he’s feeling. “Thanks, Jane.”

Jane walks back to the kitchen, but not before adding over her shoulder, “Ask Hal how he feels about The Incredible Hulk!”

DH: Haha, fuck.

Dirk has no fucking clue what that’s all about, but decides it’s about time to head upstairs and into the Crocker bathroom. 

For some people, it might be bizarre to answer a booty call from a pair of shades, but this is the life Dirk’s become accustomed to. He’s grateful to Jane as his wingman, which is somewhat unexpected in its own right. Nevertheless, she gave him an out that he appreciates. 

Her bathroom is chock full of Barbasol, more than any single family household should ever require, but more importantly, it’s a private space for him to escape from any potential scrutiny. Jane’s a fuckin’ bro, is what. He would’ve felt excessively antisocial if he’d left her place entirely, but messing around on the couch had been a terrible idea to begin with.

Dirk wonders if it would be considered so strange if Hal was there with a more significant presence. Wouldn’t that make it the sort of sweet-ass birthday party Jane was trying to host, if guests were making out in her living room? Maybe. He’ll have to ask her later.

He locks the door.

DH: Funny meeting you here.  
TT: Were you expecting someone else?  
DH: I’m supposed to meet a stranger in this bathroom for kinky semi-public robosex.  
TT: Damn, is that so?  
DH: Yeah.  
DH: It’s somebody from ChristianMingle.com.  
DH: There are hot singles in my area.

Dirk snickers out loud.

TT: Odd. I’m here from PlentyOfFish.  
TT: I hear you’re a red herring.  
DH: Fuck, you’re so right.  
TT: Are archaic dating website jokes a turn-on for you?  
DH: Yes.  
DH: I am so wet.  
DH: Mostly from you slobbering on me, but y’know.  
TT: I’ll keep that in mind.

“You know what else?” Dirk says, to the small space in the bathroom. “I can talk to you out loud, now. For whatever that’s worth.”

DH: It’s hot.  
DH: I like hearing your voice.

“See, and I was expecting some kind of sarcastic shit out of you.” 

DH: I’m being sincere, but ironically.

Dirk regards himself in the mirror. His shades rest on his nose; the red glow frames his vision as he stares at his own reflection. It’s tricky to focus on just the glasses, without inadvertently making eye contact with himself, but he manages to look to the light emanating from the lenses instead of just into his own pupils.

DH: I want you.

“I know.”

Dirk stands as a hybrid of Pygmalion and Narcissus, in love with himself and his creation, reflected back in goddamned cyberpunk tech-glasses. At this point, all he’s lacking are mirrorshades. If kissing his reflection would bring Hal a physical form, he’d do it. If he could drown in his Echo, he’d do it.

DH: You’re thinking about something really lame, right this second.  
DH: Don’t lie to me.

“I’m thinking you should shut up and let me kiss you.”

DH: Caution: sharp points.

“Oh, as if that’d ever stop me.”

DH: I’m waiting.  
DH: Are you getting cold feet?

“Yeah, but that’s because I’m not wearing socks.”

DH: Cute.  
DH: Go ahead and drool on me to your filthy heart’s content. Red light means go.

“What means stop, then?”

DH: I’ll start blaring the _Avatar_ score.

Dirk laughs. “Why stop there? Go full James Horner. Let’s get a _Hymn to the Sea_ involved in this shit.”

DH: See, and I would’ve thought you’d be extremely sick of the fucking ocean by this point in your life.

“It wasn’t so bad, at the end.” He smiles at himself—at Hal—in the mirror. “At least I had company.”

DH: Aww.

Dirk lifts his left hand to his face and runs his fingertips along the edge of the lens, up to the top point. Slowly, he repeats the motion, and after a few times he tilts his head towards his hand to guide the glasses into leaning into the touch.

“How’s that?” he asks, his voice quiet. Dirk meets his own eyes through a red filter, as he looks out and as it’s reflected back. 

DH: Just like that.

The brightness intensifies briefly; his heart skips a beat.

“Okay.” Dirk keeps petting the edge of the shades, and lets his eyes fall closed. He can still see the glow as an awareness past his eyelids. “Okay, good.”

He circles his fingertip at the top left point, and thinks back to how many broken models he went through before he’d ever dared to transfer Hal into the shades, to how much debugging and testing brought them both to this moment. Would he have ever guessed, years ago, that this is where his project would end up? 

Probably fucking not, but precedent isn’t everything.

Dirk looks at himself with his eyes half-lidded. For Hal’s sake just as much as his own, he needs to make a show of this. He keeps his finger braced against the corner, and watches the mirror as he bites his lip and slowly releases it from between his teeth. On his exhale, he lets his mouth stay open, and begins to move his thumb from the outside edge inward. His thumbnail briefly brushes his cheek, just under his eye, as he rubs gently along the screen towards his nose.

DH: Hot.  
DH: Feel me up.

Dirk lifts his right hand to his face and uses his fingers to support the lenses at the edge, as his thumbs sweep inward. For an instant, he thinks it’s like touching someone’s inner thighs, but realizes he’d prefer not to compare Hal to a humanoid body. It’s not fair to him to pretend he’s in a different form, or to be anything other than present in the moment.

His vision gets blurry as he gets cross-eyed, unable to keep focused on his thumbs for too long. As the temples lift away from his ears, he keeps Hal supported, just barely elevated from his face. Dirk tilts his head backward and raises his chin to continue what he’d started on the couch. This time, he’s got a chance to go all out and make this shit count, without anybody rushing him.

With his head back, he’s hyperaware of each breath he takes. He exhales through his mouth and brings his lips closer, to press delicate kisses to the nosepads. The smooth surface of them is comfortable on his nose, and just as enjoyable on his mouth; he takes the edge of the silicone between his lips, mouthing on it until he impulsively takes it between his teeth. To say he’s being gentle is an understatement: Hal is built to last, but he’s not about to go rough with such a beautiful piece of machinery. The dude’s a masterwork of engineering, who definitely deserves to be treated with some fuckin’ respect.

Dirk keeps his lips around the edge of the nosepad, and exhales through his nostrils, onto the bridge of the shades.

DH: How much do you like Alice in Wonderland, Dirk?  
DH: As much as Jane, or even more?

The text is tricky to read at a weird angle, but he makes do. “Plenty, I guess.”

DH: I am a delicious cake.  
DH: “Eat me.”

Dirk laughs under his breath. His body feels warm; he’s being flirted with on several memetic levels, and he’s all in favor. “Mm, must I?”

DH: You know how the meme goes, fucker.  
DH: I am a delicious cake. You _must_ eat me.

He exhales until his breath is fogging up the lenses. “Good. Because I want to.”

The text becomes even more difficult to read, through his breath on the screen, but he can make out some kind of joke about the cake, and how it makes things get bigger, and maybe also something about Rihanna’s song lyrics. There’s too much to scroll through at this angle, so Dirk takes Hal’s suggestion and licks at the nosepads. The silicone is flexible and smooth beneath his tongue; with as small and fragile as they are, he’s as careful as he can be. It’s not that they couldn’t be replaced, if something broke; it’s that he wouldn’t be so reckless with anyone’s organic body, either, so why even entertain the idea?

Hal’s LEDs glow even more brightly as Dirk licks between the nosepads, to feel both of them pressing on either side of his tongue, and runs his tongue at the crux of the bridge, where it curves up to join the two triangles. The longer he watches himself in the mirror, the longer he eats Hal out, the more he wants to resume touching himself, too.

Dirk grabs the left temple and keeps it close to his cheek, the glasses lowered to his mouth so he can continue licking. With his right hand, he uses two fingers and his thumb to jack off the right temple, keeping his touch light and quick and cautious. He gives himself ample time to get into it, to enjoy the feeling of the various textures under his tongue and between his fingertips, before he realizes that there’s a new line of text waiting for him.

DH: Get your cock out.

Warmth pools in his stomach and at the nape of neck. He’s already hard as fuck, and needs very little prompting, but Hal knows exactly what he likes—because it’s what Hal likes, too.

Dirk folds the temples back around his left hand, and holds Hal steady as he reaches down to unzip his jeans. The glasses are at an angle, lowered to view Dirk’s right hand as he grips it around his dick and begins stroking. He lets Hal watch him jack off while Dirk keeps his own gaze locked on the mirror. He’d give anything for a full-length mirror, but the small one in Jane’s bathroom will just have to do for the moment. It gives him enough to work with, that he can watch himself lick the bottom corner of the right lens, flicking at it quickly with the tip of his tongue, as Hal gets a front-row view of Dirk’s fist squeezing up and down along his cock.

“I want you so fucking bad,” Dirk murmurs. “I want to make you come.”

Hal rhythmically flashes the red glow of his LEDs. Dirk takes the hint, and plays his part completely, with whatever level of commitment to sincerity and irony will get them both intellectually and emotionally stimulated. It’s mind over matter, maybe, but he doesn’t mind and it doesn’t matter. Hal is fucking hot, and the increasingly rapid changes in the light are more than enough to keep Dirk licking and sucking at him the same as he would for anyone else.

Then again, he thinks, he’s not sure he _would_ go this hard for anyone else.

The edge of the lens is sharp, but not excessively so, and Dirk alternates watching his tongue in the mirror and watching his hand as he jacks off.

“Come for me, dude,” he urges. “I want you to fuckin’ come for me.”

Speaking the words aloud gets him that much more riled up, and he knows Hal likes it, too. Dirk moves his licking back between the nosepads, both because the way the silicone feels against his tongue is satisfying and because the location seems so much more central to Hal’s physical being. The LEDs flicker faster as Dirk laps at the junction of the lenses. He closes his eyes and sucks at the spot as best as he can, where the nosepads block him from pushing his mouth fully against the inner edge, but _fuck_ , he just wants to get Hal wet _somehow_.

In the middle of this, with red light flashing through his closed eyelids, and with the slurping noises he’s deliberately making for both their enjoyment, Dirk nearly loses his balance where he stands as he hears a recording of his own voice, moaning low and long through some past orgasm. He feels his cock jump, feels his pulse in the pit of his stomach, and staggers back to lean against the bathroom countertop. He’s got folded paper notes and sketches shoved in his back pocket that dig into his ass when he leans his weight against the cabinet, but he doesn’t care. He wants to come, and he wants Hal to see him do it.

“I’m gonna jizz all over your face,” he announces, imagining himself as the recipient just as much as he’s anticipating their impending reality. “I’m gonna fucking come all over you.”

He holds the shades out, at an ideal distance from his body, angled downward for Hal to get an excellent eyeful. With his hand moving constantly, Dirk listens to the sound of his own ragged breathing, watches the way his foreskin drags back and forth over his glans, smells his own sweat where he’s exerted himself. 

Hal cycles through short audio clips that Dirk recognizes from the porn he’s watched most frequently, the reliable old standards of jackoff material. The small onboard speakers could be better, but he knows exactly which images the snippets of audio are supposed to evoke, and it’s more than enough to get him squeezing and tugging at himself until he’s ejaculating in hot, quick spurts onto the glowing lenses.

Dirk keeps his fist wrapped around his dick until he’s good and spent. With no reason not to be indulgent, he rubs the tip of his dick through his splattered semen, spreading it across the lens until he decides he's finished. He lets out a deep sigh and replaces the shades on his face, without any attempt to clean off either of them.

DH: This is absolutely going to leave streaks.  
TT: Good. I hope it does.  
DH: You say that now, but wait until you’re trying to pull some dumb ninja stunt and miss a cue because there’s spunk stains blocking your view.  
DH: What then, Dirk?  
DH: What then?

Dirk smiles to himself. He takes a deep breath, and lets it back out, sleepy and sated.

DH: You’re fucking hot, btw.  
TT: Hell yeah, dude.  
TT: You, too.  
TT: Goddamn.  
DH: Makes me wonder why we waited so long to fuck around with each other like this.  
TT: Are we not perpetually fucking around with each other?  
DH: Damn right.  
DH: We’re already there.  
TT: Ha!

Dirk takes the shades back off and turns them around again. There’s nobody who’s gonna bug them or judge him for it, so he clears his come off the lenses in long, flat licks of his tongue. Hal lights up the LEDs again in response.

Once the shades are as good as they’ll be from his tongue alone, Dirk sets them down on the countertop and washes his hands. Jane’s got her own stash of glasses wipes in a box in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror; he’ll get her one back, somehow, next time they hang out.

He takes a step away from the sink and steps on a glob of jizz with his bare foot. Frowning, Dirk grabs some toilet paper and wads it up to wipe off his foot and the floor. There isn’t any more that’s visible, but maybe he’ll just come back upstairs later and clean Jane’s entire bathroom as a courtesy. 

DH: I can’t spoon you, so you’ll just have to take a hot shower and pretend that’s my robo-body heat or the aquatic equivalent.  
DH: Or pretend Guy Fieri is with you as you both careen down Niagara Falls, therefore also cleansing yourselves of your respective depravity.  
DH: Something like that.  
TT: What, you don’t want to join me?  
DH: I prefer to enjoy the small-bathroom-sauna, where it’s relatively safe.  
DH: Besides, you already hosed me down.  
DH: Dirty pony, etc.  
TT: I’ll keep you in my heart, while we’re separated by like, six feet.  
DH: I call dibs on your aorta.  
DH: <3  
TT: <3  
DH: <3 <3 <3  
TT: <3 <3 <3  
DH: ~*<3*~ \></ ~*<3*~  
TT: Ok, I’m gonna take a shower.  
DH: ◌̊°♡❤ (｡◥▶//ε//◀◤｡) ❤♡°◌̊

Dirk smiles until his cheeks hurt.

* * *

When Dirk descends Jane’s staircase a while later, freshly showered and ready to party, he finds all three of his friends waiting for him in the living room.

“Dirk!” shouts Roxy, who is apparently the spokeswoman for this moment. “We saved the best spot for you.”

“Oh yeah?” He shoves his hands in his pockets, even though his jeans are too tight to truly accommodate this. “I hope my artistic skills are up to snuff.”

“I’m sure they will be.” Jane offers him a tube of orange icing. It looks alchemized, rather than homemade, and Dirk wonders if she had trouble getting his font theme accurate by mixing food coloring. “We’ve been waiting for your particular brand of creativity to finalize the decorations!”

Jake is grinning just as much as the girls. “I must say I think you‘ll take a shining to my contributions, despise your distaste for and I quote, gigantic shitty space furries.” He makes airquotes with his fingers.

DH: Damn, these guys can’t stand to be without you for five minutes, can they?  
TT: I am the hot item of the month.  
DH: Goddamn right.

Dirk takes the icing from Jane and walks with the three of them into the kitchen. A sheet cake awaits him, and it’s a goddamned magnificent sight to behold. The entire surface is covered in a variety of alien and human genitalia, all except for a few select places that are awaiting his particular touch. A blank space beside “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JANE!!” has been reserved for him. He’s fucking flattered.

Sure enough, there are two blue Na’vi ponytails joined in some kind of bullshit fiber-optic sex ritual at the edges of Jane’s birthday cake, as a border motif. He glances over at Jake, who blushes furiously when he realizes that yes, Dirk _does_ find this highly entertaining.

“This is fucking incredible,” Dirk says, impressed. “Thanks for waiting up on me.”

“As if we could rightly continue without you!” Jake gestures towards the cake. “Your canvas awaits, Strider!”

DH: You’re in high demand.  
DH: You should charge money for your public appearances.  
TT: Hell yeah.  
TT: $666 boonbucks per diem.  
DH: Aim higher.

Dirk smiles to himself and hopes the others don’t notice—not that there’s much use hiding this from them, when all three of them caught him and Hal more or less making out on Jane’s couch.

Jane nods towards the cake and the specific variety of body parts it has depicted upon it. “We saved the dicks for you, if you’d be so kind!”

With the others watching, he uses the icing to draw a variety of orange dongs across the surface of the cake. They’re human, for the most part, but he sneaks a horse cock in there and gives it triangle shades instead of balls.

DH: I see what you did there.  
TT: It’s for you, man.  
DH: Pshaw.  
DH: As if you’re not deriving some sick gratification from making this cake hung like a horse.  
TT: Would you call it a game of Chance?  
DH: No. That was a forced joke.  
DH: Try harder.  
TT: Only for you. <3  
DH: Suck-up. <3

Roxy taps Dirk on the shoulder and waggles her eyebrows. “You spacin’ out a lil’, Dirk?”

Dirk feels his face heat up. “Um, I wasn’t trying to, I was just…”

“Talking to your cyborg boyfriend?” Jake teases. He claps Dirk on the opposite shoulder. “It’s all right, chum. I’m sure we all understand! Don’t we?”

Jane and Roxy both give Jake a look. Dirk sets down the icing and covers his mouth with his fist. He’s aware he’s being scrutinized, to a degree.

It’s Jane who quells the tension and draws Dirk into a hug from behind. Jake and Roxy follow her lead; all three of them squeeze hard enough that Dirk starts having trouble breathing.

“Okay, I get it,” he laughs. “I am so fuckin’ loved. Message received.” Without much success, he attempts to wrap his arms around his friends, but the angle’s all wrong and he can’t quite squirm out of the group hug that’s going on, in the first place. “Whose birthday is it, again?”

“Mine, but to have you all here in person is the best gift a girl could ask for! Your presence is my present.” Jane hugs him even tighter. Dirk lets out an “oof.”

DH: What a fuckin’ sap.  
DH: Tell Jane she’s a nerd.

Dirk laughs, and takes her hands in his where they’re wrapped across his stomach. He looks back over his shoulder in an effort to make eye contact with her. It only sort of works. This whole thing is a little awkward, but it’s heartwarming enough to win out. “Hal says you’re a nerd.”

Jane lifts her hand to prod at the corner of the shades. “We all love you too, Hal!”

DH: Damn.  
DH: I got a case of the vapors over here.  
DH: Positive vapors.  
DH: Maybe it’s just flatulence.  
DH: Tell Jane I’m robo-farting.

Dirk laughs again, so hard he can’t even repeat what Hal’s asked him to. It sets off a ridiculous chain reaction; the whole group starts giggling, and it only gets worse when Roxy breaks away from the hug to cut herself a wedge of cake adorned by a massive pair of what Dirk would best describe as anime-esque torpedo tits.

“Ro-Lal’s going in for the kill!” Jake blurts, as he too pulls away to point at her. “Jesus Christmas, the cake didn’t stand a chance.”

“It’s for the birthday girl, you massive chode.” She kisses Jake’s face, then turns her attention back to the slice of cake. She lifts the plate and stabs a fork into it. Dirk tries not to think too hard about tridents. “Jane, heads up!”

Jane keeps her arms wrapped loosely around Dirk’s waist, and opens her mouth for the fork as Roxy feeds her the first ceremonial bite. “Hmm. Could’ve used another minute or two in the oven, I think.” The slight disappointment in her voice isn’t enough to overpower the generally upbeat mood in the room, however, and she brightens. “Oh! Did anyone want to watch other Food Network shows, after this? Dirk’s fascination with Mr. Fieri has inspired me.”

“I can always go for Alton Brown,” Roxy says, waggling her eyebrows even harder. She makes some kind of meowing noise that gets them snickering all over again.

“You’re welcome to borrow any of my books or season sets, Dirk,” Jane offers. “In case you need to peruse them privately.”

DH: Take her up on that.  
DH: Get Fieri in high-def.  
DH: We can fuck to the dulcet tones of Triple D.  
DH: Maybe even get [a dakimakura](http://auto-responders.tumblr.com/post/141031628037/i-humbly-suggest-dirk-shadeshal-and-solluxs) graced by his gravy-fueled gravitas.  
DH: Hugging on that shit’ll get you in the mood in no time.

“I’ll think it over,” he says, grinning. “For now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to shove a sugary horse dick in my mouth.”

“Save Neytiri’s ponytail for me!” Jake insists. “It’s only proper that I eat it, since the hero of Pandora shares the same name I do.”

Roxy shoves him playfully. “Nobody’s comin’ after your blue beauties, bud.”

Jane shrugs, mischievous. “I might.”

Jake feigns offense. “You’d never!”

DH: Now’s your chance.  
DH: Make off with the whole cake.  
TT: But it’s not even my birthday.  
DH: CAKE CAKE CAKE CAKE  
DH: CAKE CAKE CAKE CAKE  
DH: CAKE CAKE CAKE CAKE  
TT: Oh my god.  
DH: Ç̲̘͚͖͛́ͅA̰ͣK̸̖̰͙͆̋̎Eͬ͛͐̌ͦ̆ͮ ͉̿̂ͤ͞C͔̥̪̊A̝̰̗̤̗͍ͦ͐͗͋ͥ̃ͪK͓̮̺̽ͫ͑̎ͦͥÈ͂ͧ ͚̩̮̮ͫͧ̓̓̿̉͋C̜̎ͦ̈́ͩͦ̎Á̷̺̼̺͓̫ͥK̖̈͑̉ͤE̖ͣ͗͋̉ͧ ̶̩̹̖̳̝͛͗͐̐ͫC̻̒̑̆̿Ą̜͍͈̓K̦̖̀ͅĖ̫͙̇ͩͭ̓̎ͩ  
TT: Dude.  
DH: DESU DESU DESU DESU

Before Dirk can think of any way to one-up Hal, Jane hands him a plate with an expertly sliced piece, complete with horse dong and its custom geometric ballsack. He smiles, shoves a fork through the triangles, and eats a bite.

It’s been a good fuckin’ day.

**Author's Note:**

> Maim also illustrated this, which... was technically drawn before I wrote the fic, but finished afterward? [enjoy!](http://freakyhumanshit.tumblr.com/post/135020932550/dirk-literally-fucking-glasseshal-somewhat)


End file.
